19 November 2008

joseph veronneau

joseph veronneau

The plane is up and a bird
ceases the engine.
The one in my seat
imagines the windows
level with dandelions
as a greeting back to the plains.
Earlier, a man was arrested
for walking through, holding a black bag.
They imagined it was cash
until the wands and buzzers
stated otherwise. His shoes
squeaked and held
artificial buckles on the sides.
The one imagines him, tap dancing
his way to the sky, stepping
into the falling snow like
shredded milk glass.
Steam rolls from the factories
into the Hudson below.
The Christmas tree holds
a flashing light just like a tower,
ready for the landing.
All of the money imagined
floats out into the Brooklyn streets,
filling the eyes of the playing kids below
as a plane comes in for a landing.

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